Chihiro Fujisaki (1)

Mondo, Mondo, Mondo, MONDO, MONDO, MONDO. that's all you ever hear when you spend time with your dear friend, Chihiro. you can already predict by his intonation what exactly he'll be praising today, Mondo's physical strength, his ability to intimidate with a single glare, or on particularly enthusiastic days, both at once. you know that sparkle in his eyes. you hate that sparkle. because he never looks at you like that.

jealousy is a dirty feeling, you know. it twists your stomach, poisons your thoughts, makes you angry at someone who's just admiring. he's not doing it on purpose, right? he doesn't mean to hurt you. but that doesn't make it easier, it makes it worse. you've wanted to say it so many times: "look at me! I'm right here! I see the real you, without that mask of weakness you always wear!" but the words get stuck in your throat every time he says Owada's name in that adoring tone. and each time, they sink deeper, turning into a lump you can no longer swallow back.

and now you're sitting together in the dining hall, finally alone. Chihiro is talking about something, you're not listening anymore, just staring at that damn sparkle in his eyes.

"I wish I could be like Mondo..."

and that's the last straw.